Chapter 2: The Ghosts We Leave Behind
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I pulled it out, shielding the screen’s glare with my jacket. It was a text message from Dominic.
DOMINIC: Are you locked in? ME: Yes. Dom, he has a gun. He said he’s looking for a drive. He said he’s going to kill me. DOMINIC: Dad, listen to me. Tristan is not an architect. His real name is Elias Vance. He’s a corporate espionage operative for a private syndicate. He married Delilah to get close to our family. We just raided his fake firm in Charlotte. He knows his cover is blown. ME: Why is he here?! What drive?! DOMINIC: Mom. It’s about Mom.
I stared at the screen, my mind refusing to process the words. Marsha? My sweet, gentle Marsha, who baked peach cobbler and taught middle school English?
DOMINIC: Before she taught English, she worked as a data archivist for AER Defense Systems in the 80s. She found out they were selling classified drone schematics to foreign buyers. She stole the master drive to expose them, but they threatened us. She hid it, Dad. She never told you to protect you. Tristan’s syndicate has been looking for it for a decade. He married Delilah just to search our properties. He thinks it’s in that house.
The truth hit me like a physical blow. The missing pieces of my past suddenly aligned—the times Marsha seemed overly paranoid about locking the doors, the strange "audits" at her old company she never wanted to talk about. She had been carrying a massive, dangerous secret to keep Dominic, Delilah, and me safe.
DOMINIC: SWAT is 15 minutes away. Do NOT make a sound. If he finds it, he’ll leave. If he doesn’t, he’ll come looking for you to interrogate you.
I looked at the box I was sitting on. Marsha — winter clothes.
Why had she insisted this specific box be sealed with heavy-duty tape? Why had she made me promise never to give these particular clothes to Goodwill?
My hands shook as I reached for the box. I didn't care about the noise of the tape; I had to know. I pulled out a heavy wool coat, then a thick knitted sweater. At the very bottom of the cardboard box, beneath a layer of mothballs, my fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.
It was a small, false-bottom lockbox. I pried the flimsy metal lid open. Inside sat a heavy, silver external hard drive, wrapped in a plastic ziplock bag alongside a handwritten note.
Gavin, my love. If you are reading this, I am gone, and the past has finally caught up. Give this to Dominic. Tell him to finish what I started.
May you like
Tears pricked my eyes. Even in death, she was trying to protect us. But the sentiment was shattered by a sound that made my stomach drop into my shoes.
Downstairs, my bedroom door creaked open.
